


Red Snow, Fairy Tales, and Dafodills

by blackraspberryjam



Series: Historical Hobbit [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Revolutionary War, Vaguely Underage but Historically Typical, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 22:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10706055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackraspberryjam/pseuds/blackraspberryjam
Summary: Briar Baggins was a wisp of a young woman when General Washington brought the Continental Army into Valley Forge. The harsh winter does the men no favors and it's hard to have high spirits when the wind and weather beat them lower. Among a sea of dark expressions and darker dispositions, Briar finds a spot of happiness and cheer in a young soldier.





	Red Snow, Fairy Tales, and Dafodills

Briar Baggins was no stranger to the fact that her town would soon be full of soldiers and townsfolk alike when George Washington and his Continental would be brought into camp for the winter. It was still strange to see the parade of men that marched past their door and Briar couldn’t help but look out the window at them like a child instead of a young woman. 

There were more men than she had seen in a single group before, and in a far worse condition than she had ever seen. Some were without boots and others were missing their hats, their coats, their socks. A few had wrapped bandages of cloth around their feet. Anywhere that they stepped, the snow was churned and dyed bloody red and ruts were dug by those who could not stand with their own power and were instead drug in by their companions.

Briar’s father Bungo bade her to turn away from the window, but her mother Belladonna told her to watch instead. “You’re a woman now.” She said with a stony face. “You don’t need to be shielded from war any longer.” To be acknowledged as grown was sweet, but it was much more bitter when Briar looked again outside and saw the blank faces of the men passing. None wore a smile and many wore frowns or a visage of anguish and she could hardly fault them for it. Washington’s army made it before Christmas day, but there was little hale and heartfelt spirit to be found.

They set up in tents around town, split off in circles and their own little camps. The first true house went up in a few days, for they had only one ax available to use. The logs were fetched from miles away for there was nothing suitable near town to use, or what was had been surrendered for firewood. The hut looked roughly hewn, but the men inside were most definitely grateful for it, Briar thought. The tents still bore the harsh winds and what little snowfall there was and many chose instead to sit outside around the warmth of the fires.

Briar and her mother gathered what blankets their home could afford to go without and any linens that could be serviceable for bandages. Many of the soldiers were sick or wounded, if not simply frozen to the bone. Belladonna had gone to the healer's tent many times, but Briar had not yet gone with her. Instead, her mother pressed jars of preserves into Briar’s hands. 

“These men are risking their lives for our sakes and America’s.” She told me. “The least we can do is offer what extra we have.”

The preserves were good, but there was the acute knowledge in the back of their minds and hung in the air between them that preserves were not enough to fill hungry bellies. The men had been drinking cold water and mixing the scant amount of flour and water together to cook over the fire for firecakes. 

Briar walked through the camp and passed out the jars to those who seemed to be in need. A jar of strawberry jam went to the group that had three boys who looked hardly older than fifteen. A jar of canned pear went to the group where there was a man who had no leg, for surely he could use some. A jar full of apple slices went to a group of men that were hardly clothed if not in bandages. Briar’s hand brushed again a young man’s bare hand as she handed him a jar of peaches and he smiled at her so brilliantly.  Many seemed unable now, as the harsh wind blows, even the other few scattered around his fire. 

“Thank ye kindly. Would ye mind sitting with me for a while?” He asked and Briar could not help but oblige him as if he were asking her to sit in a rich man’s parlor instead of beside him on a log. His face was kind and his smile didn’t fade. He wore a fur hat that was slightly too big and fell over his forehead jauntily and the boots on his feet seemed impossibly big.

“Yer one of the town girls, yes?” He asked and Briar noticed that his drooping eyes were a warm brown and seemed to hold a smile as well as his thin lips under a large mustache. She simply nodded as he hooked a bare finger under the string and picked off the wax on the top of the jar. “My name is Booker. Most just call me Bo.” He slung out a peach slice with his finger and offered it to her, but she just shook her head.

“My name is Briar.”

“Pretty name. Ye girls have been plenty o’ help.” He said fondly, taking the peach for himself before passing it across the fire to another of the group, who accepted it gratefully. Bo chewed slowly, smile still on his face. “Sweet.” He said.

“We canned that in the fall,” Briar said, feeling a little out of place.

“My ma used ta do something like that.” The soldier said with a smile. “She’d do it with cherries and she’d make a cherry pie for Christmas.” Briar felt a twinge of pity as she knew that Christmas was so soon and yet there were no signs of any sort of pie for these poor fellows.

“There’s not much of a making for a party, I know.” Bo laughed, obviously seeing Briar’s thoughts dance across her face. “There’s nothing more ye need than some good company.” He said sincerely. His eyes flashed up to Briar’s soft green ones and she felt a little silly for blushing.

“I suppose.” She said, still unsure. Bo just shrugged his shoulders.

“Pie’s great and all, but I liked it best when my pa would tell my brother and I stories. They’d send us off to bed and I’d keep telling stories to my brother until he fell asleep, instead of sleeping myself.” Bo looked at the fire and smiled. The firelight was caught against his skin, even if the sky was still mostly lit. Briar found herself watching just a bit too long, fiddling with her honey brown braid.

“My mother used to tell me the best stories, too,” Briar said quickly. “About dwarves and trolls and dragons.”

“Did she ever tell ye about the Devil and the Lawyer?” Bo asked and Briar was surprised by his cheekiness but shook her head anyways. “Well, there is a tale about an old man with three sons. He’s concerned as any parent that his sons wouldn’t grow up to be anything. He sold his soul to the Devil for the money to send the lot of them off to school. One became a priest, another a doctor and the last a lawyer. All well-to-do and all.”

“Well, in seven years, it was time to pay the Devil. When he got there, the man had his son with him. The priest prayed and begged and pleaded with the Devil and the Devil spared the father for a few years more.” Briar watched Bo as he kicked another small chunk of wood in the fire and watched as the frost that clung to it fizzled out.

“Then, in a few years, the Devil comes to collect again. This time, the old man has the doctor with him. The doctor begged and pleaded with the Devil and got a few more years for his father again. The third time, it was the lawyer with his father. ‘Ye spared my father two times already, and I do not expect you to do it again.’ The lawyer said. ‘But will you let him live until that candle has burnt down?’ He asked, pointing to this little stub on the table.”

“The Devil laughed, for it was hardly a candle yet and agreed. Even promised not to burn it down any quicker. Then, the lawyer blew out the candle and put it in his pocket. And that was that.” Bo laughed and Briar smiled.

“As long as he had the candle, it would never burn,” Briar stated, finding the end of the story herself.

“Ye can overcome death is you’re smart enough, I suppose,” Bo said. “Or mayhap you need to be schooled, is all.” Briar laughed with him for a moment, catching how his laugh held in the cold air. Another town woman walked past the little camp, holding an armload of wood.

“I think I need to go,” Briar said regretfully, thinking of how she needed to rejoin her mother. “I could visit you again.” She hesitated.

“I’d like that,” Bo said, throwing her a lopsided grin before Briar ran back to where she had left her mother.

On Christmas day, Belladonna didn’t make a glorious feast like she did on Christmases past and there wasn’t quite the same cheer, so Briar was able to sneak out the door with a pair of extra gloves stuffed in her pocket. She managed to find Bo’s camp by the firelight, looking for that silly furred cap, where he was the only one still awake and outside. He smiled widely when he caught sight of her and moved over on his log to let her sit.

“Merry Christmas.” She whispered to him, bundling her skirts about her knees to try and keep the snow off them.

“Merry Christmas.” He answered, wrinkling his nose. Briar reached for her pocket.

“They’re my father’s from last year,” Briar said, pushing the gloves into Bo’s hands. “They caught on a branch and tore at the end of spring, and I’ve been meaning to mend them, but he doesn’t need them anymore and I thought-”

“Thank ye, Briar,” Bo said, his voice soft and his smile softer. He pulled one on to find that his fingers were just a touch too long to fit in properly, except for his index finger where the whole allowed his finger through.

“Oh goodness, it doesn’t even fit!” Briar fretted, but Bo pulled out a pocketknife and cut the tips off of each finger. He pulled the gloves on and waggled his fingers at her.

“Fingerless gloves.” He mock-cheered. “Perfect to keep my palms warm.” He insisted.

“Oh, Bo,” Briar said, a little breathlessly and wrinkling her nose at his silliness. It hadn’t quite worked out but he didn’t seem to mind it.

“Could you hand me that stick beside ye?” Bo asked suddenly. It was smooth and without bark, laying by Briar’s feet. Briar gave it to him and he looked over it with a scrutinizing eye. “This’ll do.” He said, leaning forward to get his pocketknife out of his pocket.

“I haven’t had much time to work on something for ye, so I figure I’ll just show ye.” Bo said, flicking out the blade of his knife. He began slowly cutting off small pieces of wood, pushing the knife away from him. As his fingers moved, curves began to form in the wood. Briar leaned towards him in the dim light, trying to see better.

A long curve marked one side and a large curl formed from it. The other side had more rounded sides at first and Briar could slowly make out that the rounded shape on the top was a head. The back end’s curl became a large, smooth tail and the second round on the front became a nut held in small paws. Final subtle movements of his knife finished the details and wiping it down with the rough corner of his shirt smoothed what edges were left. Bo held out the squirrel figurine and smiled.

“Merry Christmas.”

“It’s beautiful,” Briar said, holding it in her hands carefully. It fit snugly into her palms. In a moment of shy impishness, she pressed a quick kiss to Bo’s cold cheek before calling a soft goodbye over her shoulder.

Regardless of what he must have thought about it, Bo did not mention it when she saw him next, loading her arms with wood outside her home. It was only a quick glimpse of each other, but Bo nodded his hat at her and gave her a soft smile under his silly mustache. Briar returned the smile before going back inside.

The cold persisted into January. There was a little snow, not enough to melt into water, and there was hardly any food coming into the camps. Briar and her family had long given what they could, and yet Briar had been sent out of the home by her mother several times when soldiers entered their home to take what they could. Briar found it hard to condemn them, for they were only hungry and cold, but she still found it hard to truly forgive them from taking it forcefully either.

The cold kept everyone busy, anyways. Soldiers were sent here and there, fetching wood and water when they could, and there was the constant buzz around the healing tents. Many had come already injured and many more came in with frozen limbs or small injuries far more aggravated. Belladonna had preferred for Briar to stay out of the healing tents but after some time, she stopped trying to keep her from it.

Briar was sent to fetch blankets and move from one of the tents to the other with orders or supplies. At one point, she was summoned to the sickbed of a young man, hardly older than she. The doctor had a grave face and laid out his medical utensils. Another of the women from camp held down the boy’s legs and bade Briar to hold his arms. His left leg’s bandages were taken off and Briar could smell the foul, rotting smell of deep infection and knew what was planned.

The soldier was hardly lucid, but he screamed and kicked and squirmed as best as he could when the doctor began to saw. Briar held down his flailing arms as best as she could and tried not to watch the amputation. Briar left the healing tents that day with a strong sense of sadness and pity that coiled in the pits of her stomach.

When she saw Bo speaking amiably to some of the other soldiers, she almost turned away but found herself drawn to him. Bo had seen her coming towards him and parted from his friends.

“Briar, are you unwell?” He asked, seeing her downtrodden face.

“I’m alright.” She assured him but she could not help herself from glancing towards the healing tents as another muffled scream emerged from it. Bo flinched, following her line of sight, and simply nodded.

“I think I understand.” He said. “Would you like to speak of it?” He asked, guiding Briar for a walk. She shook her head slowly.

“Could you tell me another tale?” She asked instead.

“Have you heard Princess Finola and the Dwarf?” Bo asked after a moment. Briar shook her head in the negative.

“Long ago, there was a little hut in the middle of a bare, brown moor when an old woman and a young girl lived. The old woman was wither and sour-tempered, but the girl, Finola, was sweet and even tempered. For there was no-one on the moor for miles around, Finola became very lonely and would sing and talk to herself. The other person than the old woman that she ever saw was a mute dwarf, who came to the house once a month on his broken-down horse to give them a sack of corn.”

Briar listened carefully, while they walked a little further from the main camps and to what white blankness surrounded it. The camp was incredibly busy, but as she looked out on the landscape beyond it, she could understand a bit of Finola’s plight.

“Finola was so glad to see him, even if he could not speak to her, that she’d make him cakes. The dwarf was terribly in love with Finola, so when one day, she did not come out to see him, he was concerned. The old woman tried to drive him away, but the dwarf saw Finola crying in the door of the hut as he left. The dwarf came across a fairy who touched him with a wand of speech and asked the dwarf who he was.”

“Now, ye see, the dwarf didn’t know that himself. He only remembered going past the king’s palace and being given work by the king himself to go once a month with a bag of corn to the house on the moor. The fairy told the dwarf that the girl on the moor was Princess Finola and she had been banished by the current king, who killed her father. She would have been killed as well, except an old sorcerer told a prophecy that if Finola would die, so would the new king, so instead an enchantment was laid over the moor so Finola could not leave. The old woman was sent to watch over the princess night and day but the king was to choose the messenger to bring them food, someone who had never heard of the princess.”

“The fairy asked if the dwarf was willing to break the enchantment, and he said he was willing, he loved the princess so. The fairy told him that he’d need the spear of the shining shaft, the dark blue blade, and the silver shield from the far bank of the Mystic Lake. Once he got them, he was to come to the moor and strike the shield three times with the shaft and three times with the blade to break the spell on the moor and free Princess Finola. The fairy warned him that he’d have to pay a price, but told him nothing about what the price was.”

“The dwarf mounted his horse and rode to the edge of the Mystic Lake. He began to cross on his horse’s back to the island in it but there were pookas, water-steeds, guarding the island. Before the pookas stormed him, the fairy returned and asked three times if he was willing to pay the price. The dwarf said yes, and with a golden harp, the fairy bade away the pookas. In return, he took the dwarf’s right eye as his price.”

“His eye?” Briar started. “Oh goodness!”

“Well, he was a fairy, so I imagine it was so...horrible.” Bo settled her. “The dwarf was in pain, but he charged on, for his love of the princess. The fairy led the old horse safely across the water to the island. The dwarf rode on until he found a path which led him to the top of the island’s hill. Here he watched three great birds pick berries from the trees and throw rocks into the lake. The fairy appeared again and asked if he was willing to pay the price for safe passage past the island and the birds. The dwarf said yes and the fairy took his left eye. The fairy led the horse again into the water and told the dwarf that he’d gain his memory once he reached the far bank.”

“The horse dipped into the lake and as he rose again, the poor blind dwarf thought he saw a shimmering light. Once he broke the surface of the water, he saw the bright sun and rolling green hills and realized his sight was restored. Instead of the old nag he was riding, beneath him was a noble steed and once the steed’s hooves touched the bank, the dwarf felt himself change.”

“Once they reached the bank, they galloped up the hillside to where the silver shield rested against a spear. In the reflection of the shield, the dwarf saw he became a gallant knight. He remembered he was Conal, a Knight of the Red Branch, and he had been cursed by a witch. He wore the shield upon his arm and took the spear on his back. He crossed back over the lake to find there were no longer large, angry birds but rather three white swans. He returned to the moor and came before the little hut.”

“He struck his shield three times with the shaft and then three times with the blade of his spear. On the final blow, the hut disappeared and all that was left was Princess Finola. The knight took the princess to the palace of the Red Branch Knights, and as they rode, from beneath every tree, birds sang for the spell of silence was finally broken.”

“So they had a happy ending,” Briar said thankfully. “I was worried that the poor dwarf would end up blind forever.”

“Well, he was willing to do it.” Bo reminded her. “For the one he loved.” He said, glancing at Briar. “That’s the best part of a fairy tale, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Briar said with a soft huff of laughter. “That and how there’s a bit of happiness at the end. Like spring at the end of winter.”

“I can’t help but wish for a bit of spring now,” Bo said, smiling. He kicked at a bit of snow, gently.

“I’d love to see the flowers bloom again,” Briar said.

“Like the roses?” Bo teased.

“I may be named Briar, but I’ve always loved daffodils best.” She confessed. “So bright and cheery.”

“I’ve never paid much attention to plants,” Bo admitted in turn.

“Thank you for the story, Bo,” Briar said, realizing that he had walked her to her door. Bo tipped his furred cap to her and bowed in an overly dramatic way and Briar giggled at it. She asked him if he would like to come inside, but he declined thankfully.

They met several times again in January, often going for walks as Bo told Briar the tales of The Little White Cat, The Golden Spears, and The Enchanted Caves, and she, in turn, told him of the fairy tales her mother told her of dragons and lords of silver fountains. January passed into February with little ceremony, but Martha Washington, the General’s wife, arrived in the second week. 

As the days dragged on, Briar found one of the few good things was the sewing circle. Martha Washington had organized the women of the town and any who had come with the army to sew and mend and knit what they could for the soldiers. It was hard work and you needed to have quick and agile fingers to keep up, but it was also a bit more sociable to be able to speak to the other women. Briar would often attend with her mother, who was known in her younger days to be able to sew on a button in less time than it took you to button it, but some other family members were there as well.

Some of the younger women would be quartered off by themselves, which inevitably included Briar as well as her cousins Lobelia and Primula. They had been mending shirts from thin cambric, which were nearly more holes than a shirt, when Briar noticed that Lobelia was doing an embroidery of a sort on her’s.

“It’s a Bounty Shirt,” Primula explained with a roll of her eyes. “She’s hoping a handsome soldier will get it and be so in love with her sewing that he’ll marry her.” Lobelia began to fuss and defend herself, but Briar only leaned in to see Lobelia’s name curled around the inside of the collar.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought of doing the same.” Lobelia huffed, turning her work inwards. “I only hope to find a handsome husband, is all.”

Briar couldn’t help but think of Bo when she was given a few small skeins of yarn for a scarf. There wasn’t enough of any color to finish a full scarf, but she began to work on making stripes of oranges, browns, and reds. In a red block meant to go on the end of the scarf, she knitted a ‘B’ in a slightly darker red. She told herself it stood for ‘Bo’ but she found herself less sure of herself as she saw bounty shirts going out to soldiers. Eventually, the scarf was finished. It was meant to go to with the other work being sent out to soldiers, but Briar managed to sneak it out in her skirts. She presented it to Bo after one of their walks, where he had been telling her the tale of Fair, Brown, and Trembling. 

“I made this for you.” She said softly. He looked at it for a moment before taking it and wrapping it around his neck.

“It’s warm.” He said affirmatively and he smiled so wondrously that Briar couldn’t help but to blush and avert her eyes. Bo looked around for a moment before taking her hand and tugging her behind one of the soldier’s huts. There, he took her face in his gloved hands and she could feel the callouses of his rough fingers against her skin.

“Thank you, Briar.” He said before bringing his face forward and meeting her lips with his own. His mustache felt a little funny on her face, but she found that she hardly minded, finding her hands on his shoulders. They could not be behind the woodpile for very long, but Briar pressed another chaste kiss to his lips and then to his cheek before parting. They smiled together, furtively. 

The harsh winter began to melt into a gentler spring. By the end of the month, food supply line began reaching into camp and the men weren’t forced to subsist on firecakes and pepper pot soup. Bo and his comrades were moved into one of the huts and Briar was a consistent fixture around the camp.

On one of Briar’s return trips from the healing tents, Bo met her mother. Belladonna and Bo did not exchange much other than greetings before the passed by, but once they were home, Belladonna was questioning her daughter.

“Nothing untoward is happening, mother.” Briar insisted and Belladonna left the subject be for a time.

At one time, Briar thought she saw her father speaking with Bo, but it was only from a distance. There was no reason for them to know each other, and while Briar was not opposed to them knowing each other, she knew she could not be as lax under her parents’ eyes.

In May, there was a grand celebration for the French had officially become allies of the Continental Army. There was loud cheers and shouts and drills were performed all over camp and outside of it. There was scattered gunfire as muskets and cannons were shot off in celebration. The celebration grew louder even as the rations grew to include a gill of rum for the day.

Some of the girls, including Lobelia and Primula, had gone to the camps and joined in the dancing. It only took a little bit of prodding for Briar to be convinced to come along. There she learned that a soldier had indeed gotten Lobelia’s shirt and requested her for a dance. Last she caught sight of her and her soldier beau, they had danced away. Briar had watched along as the tune was played and clapped to the beat. Eventually, she noticed Bo joining the musicians as a fiddler.

One of the soldiers extended a hand for Briar to join in and she accepted. She was twirled here and there across the clearing as the fast paced dance began. The fiddle twanged quickly and swiftly as the dancers’ feet continued. Briar would feel a hand on her back to guide her before her hand was grasped by another’s to be twirled off in another direction. The lights and colors swirled around her as she spun off in no direction in particular. 

A roughened hand with a gloved palm clasped her outstretched hand and a matching hand settled in the small of her back. She then noticed there was one less fiddle playing with the music. She looked into the smiling brown eyes of her own soldier beau and allowed him to take her for another twirl around the dance floor, her cheeks beginning to smart from smiling for so long.

The joy extended as word came in June that the British Army had left Philadelphia open and vulnerable. Quickly, the Continental Army began to pack up and prepared to march back out, the same way they had come. It was an exciting time, as everyone bustled here and there, but as Briar watched the men sling packs onto their backs, Briar remembered that Bo had only come to Valley Forge six months before. It seemed now like he was simply a feature like he had been there for her entire life if not longer.

Bo sought her out this time, as news spread through the camps. His eyes had a sad twinge of unhappiness in them and Briar felt the harsh keen of bittersweetness. His hands reached into his pack and he handed her a package wrapped in cloth. Inside was a carved spoon. The bowl was slightly split, like the shape of a heart, and the stem was made of the winding leaves and stems of daffodil flowers.

“It’s not an Irish tradition, but a Welsh one.” Bo began. “See, this is a lovespoon. It’s meant to be a symbol of affection for the girl a fella really loves. I meant to give this to ye as a proposal.” Briar’s eyes flickered up to Bo’s. She could feel tears well up in her own and she bit her lip.

“Briar Baggins, I do not know when I’ll be back. If you’re willing to wait for me, I’d love to have ye for my wife.”

“Of course,” Briar answered easily, tears dribbling down her cheeks and a smile drawn across her face. “I’ll wait for you. I love you too.” Bo’s arms wrapped around her and she sank into them gratefully. She felt the prickle of his mustache against the top of her head as he kissed it.

“I spoke to yer folks about it,” Bo said softly. “I have two years until the end of my enlistment.”

“Make sure to write,” Briar told him, muffled into his coat.

Eventually, they had to part. Briar watched him and the rest of the men go as they came. There were less, but they were in better spirits and more hearty and hale. After watching the last of the army march out of Valley Forge, Briar went back inside and avoided her parent’s unhappy faces.

It was heard that the reclaiming of Philadelphia went well, which was confirmed when Bofur’s first letter came in a month after he left. He wrote about The Battle of the Birds for her. Briar never got to truly respond, as she never knew where to address a letter until he was already surely gone, but she watched for his letters to arrive.

Sometimes she’d get two in one month. A few times, it was months before she got one. Two years after he left, Briar was certain she’d see a familiar face marching down the road towards her. As spring faded to summer and then to fall, she accepted that he was surely tying up loose ends, even when the letters stopped. That winter, her father fell ill and passed away. Briar and her mother were able to keep the house for a time.

The next winter, her mother passed away. Briar knew it was a broken heart, for she had truly loved Bungo. As an unwed woman, Briar was shuffled into the house across the road, which belonged to her mother’s brother. The war still ticked on, but some soldiers were returning home at the end of their enlistments. Lobelia’s soldier had come home and married her in a grand fashion.

At times, Briar looked out her window and wondered where her soldier had gone. It became well known in Valley Forge that she was still longing for her lost love, who everyone had thought was truly lost. Some thought he simply never really wished to return. There were some tries to persuade Briar to accept a courting suit of a local boy, but there were few local boys to be had with the war still going on and Briar’s general disinterest in the concept. By the time it had been five years since General Washington left, it was understood that Briar was simply a spinster.

In the spring, it was quite a sight when a wagon pulled into town and a man jumped off with the largest bouquet of daffodils clutched in his hand. Briar knew him instantly and dropped her knitting in the window seat and ran out the doors. Bo dropped the flowers into the wagon seat and caught Briar around the waist when she flung herself at him with tears in her eyes.

“I’m back.” He said, muffled into her honey brown hair.

“Whatever took you so long.” Briar cried.

Bo told her of being promoted to captain and of the hard battles fought. He told her about captured by the British for a time and being traders for British prisoners of war. He told her about recovering in a hospital in New York and of the war ending. He told her about the reward he had for serving and the three hundred acres of land giving to him to farm and how he had built a little house for the two of them on it.

“I know you’ve waited an awfully long time for me,” Bo said, kissing the tears from her face. “If you’re still willing, I’d love to marry you, my dearest.”

Briar said yes.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm just a sucker for historical fiction and I've been wanted to do Bilbo in a hundred different time periods and places for eons now. I've even written scraps of stories in my college notes. I haven't posted in an eon because I simply have been unable to really run with anything. I'd start a million documents and write maybe a page or two and then I'd be unable to continue with it. I'd be resolved to write and I would put 'fanfiction' on my to-do list and would never write.
> 
> This one has been in the works for a while, originally as part of a different, overreaching story. I've decided that I just want to write a series of Bilbo in all sorts of historical moments and places, and here is where I start. I apologize for anyone who doesn't like the more period-appropriate names, but I had a hard time placing a Bofur in 1777. Also, I didn't specify, but Briar is about 17 in the beginning while Bo is in his early 20's. I wanted to leave it a bit more vague for underage reasons.
> 
> I'm wonderfully open to suggestions for other time periods or places as well. also, I'm tinkering with the idea of writing a sort of biographical epilogue, if you wanted to see what happens with Briar and Bo after all of this.


End file.
